Her world was black and white, nothing special, nothing new. All she knew was the art of applying a mask with the make up just right so she could avoid the redundant question “Are you ok?” for another day.
She knew no way but that in which she would cower in fear of the world, as though it had already hurt her one too many times.
Yet he saw through her mask, through her eyes from which she could only distinguish black from white and white from black. He became her rainbow, and allowed her to believe, though only for a second, that there was color in this world, and love was a real thing.
Just as she began distinguishing blue from red, and yellow from green, he disappeared, and took away with him a part of her.
He had destroyed her mask, hidden it somewhere, he had promised, no one would ever find it again. And so she made a new one, yet this one was damaged, just like her broken heart which she had tried to mend, but how could you mend a broken heart once it’s been broken so many times?
And so she lived, her idea of love destroyed by the sheer fact that the one who brought color into her drab world left her with less than she had started. She tossed and turned at night, tears flooding her bed sheets, knowing love was never meant to be so, yet having no proof of any other way.